Artist's Block
by redmiserable
Summary: Grantaire has artist's block, and Enjolras unwittingly helps him out. Modern AU. Oneshot.


Grantaire had been staring at the computer screen for the last 3 hours.

The photo-editing program was pulled up and the many tabs lining the top of it betrayed his failure to scribe the ghost in his head. He sighed, and grabbed the candy box next to his stylus. A shake, and five candies fell into his hand: 2 yellow, 1 orange, a green and a red.  
The frustrated artist shoved them into his mouth and cringed when the treat curled his tongue.

This project wasn't going anywhere. He licked the sour sugar off his palm while using a clean finger to shut down his laptop and tablet. Would it be better if he sketched his idea? Painted it?_ Made it out of play-doh_?! He was irritated; artist's block was a pain in the ass.

He needed to take a walk... and find something orange. Jehan had told him that orange was the color that inspired creativity, hadn't he?

Jean Prouvaire was Grantaire's three-semester roommate, aptly nicknamed "Jehan". They were both into the arts, so it so made sense they'd be compatible as roommates. Besides, when their different degrees of gloom made an appearance, it was nice to have someone around who understood.  
He caught sight of one of Jehan's notebooks splayed open on the counter, and took the liberty of shutting it and placing it next to the rosebush by the window. Grantaire had mocked Jehan for hours when it first came.

_It's a present from my_ mother! the poet had explained. _We have a rose garden at home and I used to help her out on the weekends when the sky was a good color. She wants me to have a little piece of home!_

Said poet was out at the moment.

A walk was _definitely_ in order. Before he left Grantaire checked the fridge. There was almost no food save for a couple of apples, a container full of rice, and a carton of soy milk. _Ech._ Clearly, Joly had exercised his health influence on the aureate Jehan.

Grantaire couldn't help but chuckle to himself at that as he shrugged on his jacket and slipped on his worn canvas sneakers. He was heading to the one place he knew he'd find company: The Café Musain.

* * *

Jehan was there at the Musain, along with the usual suspects that made up their codependent friend circle. The café wasn't small, but it was by no means large, either. It was a favorite among college students for clubs, meetings, schoolwork, and dates. Grantaire sat down at their regular table with a cup of earl grey tea and a new box of the candy he'd been eating earlier.

Joly's eyes widened. "Grantaire-"

"Joly, I've been in _need_ of processed sugar!" He didn't mention the secret flask he had on him.

"Grantaire!" Jehan paused from scribbling in another one of his many notebooks and smiled at him brightly. The poet had dressed in a cream-colored linen hoodie and clutched a variety of pens. "I almost thought that you would stay in that stuffy apartment all afternoon! How is the assignment coming along?"

The artist poured sour candy figures into his mouth. "_Nope._ Couldn't get the damn thing started."

"When is the deadline?"

"Coupla days."

"Well, what are you attempting to draw?"

* * *

_The day beforehand, he had gone to the park with all of his friends. Bahorel had challenged Feuilly to a game of football. Marius and Combeferre were trying to humor Courfeyrac on a debate over _The Tragedy of King Lear._ Joly was teaching Bossuet how to... mediate? Jehan and Enjolras had situated themselves under a tree. Jehan was scribbling in yet _another_ notebook, sticky notes escaping from the sides, pen marks on the edges of pages, the spine well-worn. Enjolras sat next to him, tolerating his muttering.  
He had a hardcover book in his hands and he wore a look of concentration. His ankles were neatly crossed._

_Grantaire observed this all from a distance, chewing on a barbeque sandwich. His white sneakers moved with his thoughts - the red and blue bands running around the sides matched Enjolras' belt._

_He made no attempt to hide his staring at the blonde man. The others were used to being scrutinized, as they know they would later be reincarnated with pigments and paper. He looked at Enjolras with a murderously vapid look on his face - how could he be so relaxed yet so _alert_ at the same time?_

_The artist tapped his lips thoughtfully. He could use cross-hatching there, for his shirt, and..._

* * *

"...I'd rather not say." Grantaire turned to his right and rested his chin on Courfeyac's shoulder. His friend's laptop screen was open to an informational page on the history of masks.

"Hi?" Courfeyrac's eyes crinkled around the edges, in the way that made girls swoon.

_"Whatcha doin'?"_

"Lookin' at some masks." Their tones were light and sing-songy.

"Whyy?"

"Gotta do it for my movement classs." Their voices got louder.

"You've already _done_ homeworrrk!"

"I've got more!"

"Grantaire. Courfeyrac." They both looked up to see a slightly distressed Feuilly peering at them from over the edge of his coffee cup. The two students stared at him and moved to whispered singing.

"Why are ya studying masksss?"

"We're working on movement with theeeemm for our next show."

"Are you ever gonna make one?" A wicked smile came over Grantaire's mouth.

"Possibly!"

"Keep me updated." Grantaire was aware of someone settling into the chair beside him. He turned, a joke poised on the edge of his tongue, but it dissolved in his mouth the second he almost rammed his face into Enjolras' red-clad arm.

"Grantaire."

The artist in question made a show of pulling away. "_Enjy_! You've decided to like me today!" Enjolras rolled his eyes. Grantaire stuck a green candy into his mouth. "Unfortunately, there aren't any other seats open. Are you the only one who didn't bring schoolwork, Grantaire?"

"I came to _socialize_, not study!" This was why Courfeyrac was his best friend. Whenever Grantaire wanted to play, the other followed... but now, he _too_ was doing schoolwork.

"Then why are you here? If you interrupt our work..."

"I'll behave. Scout's Promise!" He solemnly held up three fingers.

"Don't talk to Jehan, either."

"Oooo-kay."

"Or bother Courfeyrac."  
_Damn_. Grantaire turned back to his very, very strong tea and took a big gulp. The hot liquid cooked the top of his mouth.

Enjolras side-glared him. "Grantaire, leaning back in your chair like that and saying 'naaaaah' doesn't const-" His ice water was snatched from beside his laptop. "Grantaire!"

Stupid, stupid, stupid Grantaire. But he_ liked_ getting under the dedicated activist's skin, intentionally or not.

"_Ih burnf moth thung."_ Enjolras rewarded him with a fresh eye roll.

"Grantaire, are you alright?" Joly reached across the table and grabbed his wrist.

"Uhhh _huf_!"

"Keep... drinking that water very slowly. And I mean _really_ slowly and maybe suck on of those ice cubes and try not to talk a lot and don't eat any more candy and you shouldn't eat that anyway because it's unhealthy. And... and, I'm _really sorry_ Enjolras, I'll buy you a new one!"

Enjolras scooted his chair a few inches away and scornfully powered on his computer.

He looked_ especially_ drawable when angry.

* * *

Half an hour later, Grantaire was scraping the dried paint off his school t-shirt.

Enjolras had tolerated the blatant watching, the obnoxious organization of candy, the stealing of post-it notes, and offering of pen tattoos to the entire group. Bahorel was the only one who obliged. But when_ that_ had turned into throwing paper airplanes at each other, even Combeferre had gotten tense and Enjolras yelled at the offenders.

Grantaire informed Jehan he was going to the art store, and that he'd see him later.

The automatic doors of the store opened for him and the artist breathed in the scent of colors and smiled. He was looking for a new oil pastel.

A certain blonde-haired man came to his mind_, but now he was perched on a slab of rock instead of sitting down. He was glaring at the sky with a giant red flag wrapped around his shoulders, red as the jacket he'd been wearing earlier. An equally red sash was tied at his waist. His wind-tousled curls created interesting shadows on his face, and his hands were decorated with ash. He looked every part of the justice he frequently preached about._

Grantaire now knew what he was going to draw for his assignment.

He decided on a vibrant crimson pastel.

* * *

**_A/N:_ This is my first published fanfiction on this site in several years! It's also my first time publishing Les Misérables fanfiction! I'm working on a big collaborative fic with three other people, and I wanted to get used to this website again before we eventually start publishing. Write something light before getting my hands dirty, if you will.**

**I like to think Grantaire would take to Sour Patch Kids if he lived in this century. Maybe he digs that "sour, then sweet!" thing. **


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